


Keep On Haunting Me

by aroacestronaut



Category: The Chronicles Of Vladimir Tod - Zac Brewer
Genre: Gen, Tags will be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:51:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9777383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aroacestronaut/pseuds/aroacestronaut
Summary: It would have suited Vlad just fine if he never, ever saw D’Ablo again. But D’Ablo has never known when to die and he isn’t about to take the hint even after Tomas ripped his heart from his chest. Fortunately for Vlad, all D’Ablo cares about was moving on. Unfortunately for Vlad, D’Ablo has absolutely no idea how he could go about doing so. That’s where Dorian comes in.





	1. Chapter 1

“Couldn’t you have picked someone else to pose for you?” Vlad complained, lowering his arm from where it had been suspended in the air for five minutes. He’d been working out since entering college, making daily visits to Stoker U’s gym, but by two minutes his arm was burning as if it were dipped in acid.

“Henry’s studying, October’s working on the set for  _ Phantom _ \--”  _ of the Opera _ , their semester musical-- “and Meredith is using Joss to help her study for her chem final,” Snow answered, setting down her sketchbook, black-painted lips stretched in a smile. “So you’re my only option for my own final.”

“I feel dumb.”

“You don’t keep a 3.5 GPA in college and be dumb at the same time,” she said.

“I need to study too.”

“I said you could, you just don’t like multitasking.”

“What’s your project, anyway?”  
“Draw people like I really see them.” As she spoke, Snow pulled her sketchbook close to her chest. Vlad glimpsed a mass of charcoal but he still couldn’t make out a shape.

“I don’t get why you need me to pose like I’m slicking my hair back.”

Snow sighed. “Okay, technically I’m not supposed to tell you, but . . . you’re cool, and beautiful, so I’m having you pose like those Abercrombie models, even though they don’t hold a candle to you. And you’re kind . . . you _care_ , you know? You’re fucking awesome. You got the badass Pravus thing going on . . . there’s so many things about you.”  
Vlad could feel himself blushing. Snow leaned over and pecked him quick. When she leaned back, her eyes faded from the iridescent green they’d flashed when she kissed him. “See, you’re doing this for me, even if you need to study for your things. You care a shit ton. We can continue tomorrow, though, I think I got good progress.” She gathered all her things as Vlad tried to come up with something to say. Finally, he stopped gaping at her. “Hey . . . thanks.”

She smiled, flashing her white teeth. “You don’t need to thank me for telling the truth.”

The door to his and Henry’s shared room swung shut behind her with a quiet click. Vlad stared at it as if he could see through it and catch one final glimpse of his girlfriend as she walked to her own room, then grabbed his calc textbook off his pillow. He wasn’t any better at math in college than he was in high school, and it was his first final. Vlad thought he’d really rather stick his arm into a pot of acid than take the test.

He finally made himself comfortable, sprawled on his stomach on top of his sheets with coffee within easy reach. His phone was on silent at the other end of the room. If Otis happened to call, Vlad would see it later. He’d just set his pencil to paper, ready to power through an enormous set of problems, when his ears picked up the faint sound of a string of  _ strong _ curses. He blushed at what some of them were suggesting -- certain anatomical impossibilities -- then tuned them out. Except they seemed to be getting louder and louder, and for some reason it didn’t sound like they were coming from the hall, but from three rooms down, then two, and then from the next room--

“--therfuckingshitfuckingfuckyourshittyselfyoUSHITTYCAN _ VAFFANCULODU’COSODU’MERDACRISTOOOOOO--” _

Something careened through the wall into Vlad’s room and Vlad caught a glimpse of white blond hair that he thought he recognized before whatever it was sailed through the opposite wall. Vlad followed it with his eyes, jaw hanging open incredulously. He could hear the cursing (now in languages he didn’t even know existed) fading from room through room, but he didn’t hear the expected “what the fuck”s or “what the hell was that?”s. He bit his bottom lip, looked down at the calculus problems in his textbook and decided he imagined all that. If no one else saw it or heard it, there was no reason for Vlad to think that it had happened. He set his pencil down to the paper again, scribbling down the function, when a frustrated “ **_FUCK!_ ** ” pierced the air, coming from the direction the thing went. Vlad jumped a mile and very nearly fell off the bed. This time he sat up, staring at the wall. Thirty seconds later the thing floated out of it and Vlad really did fall off the bed.

D’Ablo, looking more murderous than Vlad had ever seen him, had just entered his room through the wall. The vampire flicked him an irritated glance and Vlad saw that he was dripping blood everywhere before he shoved through the wall, muttering something under his breath that Vlad didn’t hear. Slowly, Vlad got off the bed and approached the spot that D’Ablo had floated over, eyes still on the wall the vampire had left through before looking at the floor. The blood was there, glowing a faint blue. It was translucent enough that Vlad could see the carpet underneath it. His brow furrowed. He flicked his gaze back to the wall again in case D’Ablo came back, then reached down to touch the blood. Before his fingers touched it, however, the blood disappeared in a puff of blue vapor. Vlad snatched his hand away.

And at that moment, he felt a presence in the room with him. Vlad whirled around. D’Ablo’s torso was sticking out of the wall. He didn’t look as furious, but his arms were crossed and he was glaring at Vlad in a way that suggested he was not at all happy to see him. Not only that, but he was leaving an enormous bloodstain on the wallpaper.

Then D’Ablo rolled his eyes. “Fucking figures you’d be alive.” He turned around (it was surreal seeing his shoulder disappear into something solid) and was about to leave the room when Vlad squeaked out a barely audible “wait.”

D’Ablo paused, already halfway gone. Then he turned back into the room again. There was something in his eyes that Vlad couldn’t read, and his head was tilted just enough to convey curiosity. Only the front half of his body was visible, though, and Vlad suddenly had the wild idea to compare him to Han Solo when he was frozen.

Then D’Ablo’s eyes narrowed and Vlad finally realized what the expression on his face had been a split second before. Hope. D’Ablo sighed and slumped over, defeated, and turned to leave again. 

“No, wait,” Vlad said again. D’Ablo paused and blinked at him. Then he came fully into the room. A few seconds later, the bloodstain disappeared. Vlad could see where all the blood came from: a fist sized hole in his chest, right where his heart ought to have been. His white shirt was stained dark red and ripped where Tomas had torn through it to get to his heart.  _ The fatal wound _ , Vlad thought. It couldn’t have been anything else.

D’Ablo looked down at himself as if just now realizing he had a gaping wound in his chest, then rolled his eyes. He floated around Vlad, filling the entire room with a faint blue glow, and Vlad followed him with his gaze. They were both silent for another few seconds, then D’Ablo finally spoke. “You . . . you can see me.” Incredulity dripped from his voice.

Vlad swallowed and nodded. He vaguely noted that D’Ablo, outside of having a non-Lucis caused hole in his torso, also had two hands.

D’Ablo darted to the left, then to the right. Vlad kept his eyes on him the entire time. The vampire -- ghost -- came to a rest in front of him, still looking dumbfounded. Vlad cleared his throat. “So, uh . . . what was . . . “ he gestured from wall to wall-- “that all about?”

D’Ablo bit the inside of his cheek, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if mulling over whether to answer. Finally, he said, “I tried to see if I could move something. A can. Some ghosts can do it.” He crossed his arms again. “I tried to kick a can and I missed -- well, not  _ missed _ \-- so I propelled myself into the dorms.” He was glaring at Vlad as if daring him to laugh. Laughing was probably the last thing Vlad had in mind.

“Have you . . . uh. Been around long?” Then, “there’s other ghosts?”

“It’s Stokerton.” D’Ablo shrugged. “People die all the time. Sometimes they stay.” He crossed his legs and sank onto the bed, floating just an inch above the mattress. “I’ve been around since I died. Since . . . what year is it? Doesn’t matter. Can’t have been that long. You’re what . . . twenty? Good age. Not as good as twenty one, for obvious reasons, but still a good age for these days.”

Vlad swallowed. “Nineteen. I’m a freshman.”

D’Ablo frowned at him.

“First year in college.”

“Oh.” D’Ablo glanced out the window, then grinned and looked back at Vlad. “ _ Freshman _ . That’s funny.”

Vlad bit his lip, then slowly sat on the floor across from him. It was surreal to be having a civil conversation with D’Ablo-- to even be  _ talking _ to him, actually. But with all the weird in his life, Vlad was pretty ready to accept the fact that his archnemesis that never quit would come back to haunt him in a way other than in his nightmares. “Can no one else see you?”

“No. I tried. Even went overseas to have a chat with my mother. She wouldn’t look at me, much less hear me.” He uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again. “Did you know ghosts can get tired? Took a month-long nap right in the middle of the Atlantic. Came back on a cargo ship. I wasn’t about to do that again.”

“Oh.” D’Ablo had a mom?

And again they fell into an awkward silence. Vlad couldn’t think of anything more to say. Even D’Ablo, who was ever talkative while he was alive, stared at his knees as if they were the most interesting things in the world. They couldn’t ignore the history between them. And now that D’Ablo couldn’t (presumably) touch him, they couldn’t go ahead to their regular routine of D’Ablo lunging at Vlad and Vlad desperately trying to avoid him.

Finally D’Ablo sighed. “So what are you studying?” That was good. School was a safe subject.

“English. I’m minoring in business.”

When Vlad looked up, D’Ablo was wrinkling his nose. “Why would you want to subject yourself to that?”

“Business? It’s not that bad--”

“Not business. English. Awful language, horrible literature. And business is far more useful. You can overlap human affairs with vampire affairs . . . definitely more worth your time.” He scratched his nose, then fixed his intense blue gaze on Vlad. “You  _ are _ going into vampire business, right?”

Good God, another adult trying to tell Vlad what to do. And this one was dead, and could float through walls, so Vlad couldn’t even walk away from him. Vlad frowned. “I’m going to get my degree, then decide.” He thought D’Ablo would press, but instead the ghost frowned and leaned his weight backwards on his hands, stretching out his legs. “Fair enough. Why English? Waste of time.”

“Why do you hate English so much?”

“Anyone whose first language wasn’t English hates it.”

_ “Why? _ ”

“There’s no rules. Or if there are, there’s exceptions left and right. Put an ‘s’ at the end of a word to make it plural--  _ but _ this doesn’t count with moose, sheep, goose . . . no rules whatsoever. And don’t get me started on the literature.”

Vlad wasn’t in the mood to get D’Ablo started on the literature, mostly because he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. Apparently, the trick to get D’Ablo talking was to get him animated about something. “That’s just one thing.”

“The verb tenses make no sense either.” D’Ablo quirked an eyebrow, as if daring Vlad to object. “You say ‘I go’ in the present tense, and all of a sudden it’s ‘I went’ in the past. And ‘you will have gone’ for the future perfect, or whatever it’s called. Too many words for one tense and where the hell did the stem go?” He spread his hands. “Poof, gone. English is the worst language. Even Russian was easier.”

“You know Russian?”

“I learned every council’s main language. And a few dialects. Better to insult them with.” He was smiling, a dreamy look on his face. Then he snorted out a laugh. “It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to someone. These past couple of years have been rather dull.”

“Weren’t you napping for a month?”

“I got so bored I started chatting with the dolphins that swam next to the ship, Vladimir. It’s like solitary confinement, except . . . except you can see people, and hear them. They just don’t know you’re there. Spying on people gets boring after some time. Whether they’re masturbating in the shower or not.” Again, D’Ablo laughed at the expression on Vlad’s face. It was an oddly rich sound, deep and full of mirth, very different from the chilling laughter when he and Vlad were facing off. “Oh, no, never in the shower, I am a gentleman. Really, what do you take me for?”

“Oh. Yeah. No. Sorry.” Vlad rubbed the back of his neck, then wet his lips. “So why are you here? Why didn’t you move on . . . ?”

D’Ablo stiffened, and the easy grin slid off his face like oil. Vlad instantly knew that wasn’t the right question to ask. “Wait, no, never mind. You don’t have to answer.”

D’Ablo’s gaze flickered up. Vlad was struck by how tired he looked-- even exhausted, his face drawn. D’Ablo probably looked exactly like he did when he died. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s that I don’t die easily . . . not completely, apparently. Ironic, isn’t it? So many people wanting to get rid of me -- don’t try to say that they didn’t, I’m not oblivious -- and even in death they don’t succeed.” He kicked at the carpet, except instead of lifting it his foot went right through the fabric. He scowled at it. “So I suppose I ought to tell you who killed me--”

Vlad’s eyes widened and he hurried to say, “oh no. No you don’t need to--”

“Don’t be so soft, they murdered several people other than me and you’re just going to let them walk away--”

“No I already--”

“You’re so damn trusting, they’re lying to you--”

“THEY’RE DEAD, D’ABLO!” 

D’Ablo opened his mouth, then closed it, stunned at being yelled at. Vlad grit his teeth and hurried on before D’Ablo could speak again. “My dad and Vikas are dead. A few months ago. I know Tomas killed you, but he’s dead. He’s gone. I killed him, and Vikas died because of the Lucis. They’re both . . . “ he flung his hand outwards, “dead.” When he looked up, D’Ablo looked like he’d been slapped across the face. “ _ Dead _ ?”

“Yeah.”

“Dead,” D’Ablo said again. He rubbed his forehead and floated a little higher off the bed, then stood. “Vikas dead . . .  _ that _ is . . . surreal. I mean,” he laughed. This time it was a high-pitched, hysterical sound. “A thousand years. And he’s  _ gone? _ Good fucking riddance.” Then his face darkened and became unreadable. Vlad tried not to think too much about it and pressed on. 

“So yeah. They’re gone. You don’t need to talk about it.”

D’Ablo went from rubbing his forehead to rubbing the inner corner of his eye. “At least I don’t have to get ‘ _ Tomas is a psychopath _ ’ through your thick skull.” Then, to Vlad’s horror, he scratched down the side of his face. D’Ablo didn’t seem to notice and sarcastically muttered, “thank God for small favors.” When he pulled his hand away, there wasn’t a single mark that suggested he’d dug his nails into his skin. He sighed then looked down at Vlad again. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Um. Okay.” He stepped out of D’Ablo’s way before remembering that nothing could get in D’Ablo’s way anymore. D’Ablo shot him a funny look and floated by. He was halfway through the wall when Vlad spoke. “Wait.”

D’Ablo turned, eyebrow raised.

Vlad swallowed. “Okay, so. I was thinking--”

“A miracle.”

“Haha. Funny. But anyway. Do you want to move on? Like, go to whatever is supposed to come after death?”

D’Ablo tilted his head. “Most vampires believe in an afterlife only for vampires . . . religious ones manage to integrate that into their faith.”

“Do you? Believe in it?”

“I never thought about it much.”

That sounded unlikely, but what did Vlad really know about D’Ablo? Absolutely nothing. “Anyway. Don’t ghosts have some unfinished business if they’re stuck on Earth?”

D’Ablo snorted. “You watch too many movies.”

“Most movies are somewhat based on fact. They got the garlic thing right for vampires.”

“Because Bram Stoker was an ass.”

“But it’s still true. So who’s to say that you don’t have some unfinished business?” Vlad paused. “Do you?” That was something he hadn’t considered. Maybe D’Ablo just didn’t have anything to complete.

“There was that state-of-the-jurisdiction report that I never got done.” ‘ _ Because Tomas killed me’ _ hung in the air between them. D’Ablo pursed his lips. “But that’s too minor, and Cristina would have finished it. Though it would be my luck.” He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, then stared down at Vlad. “Do you really want to help me?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think it’s better for both of us if you . . . go.”

D’Ablo’s mouth tightened and for a moment Vlad worried he’d offended him. Then D’Ablo sighed. “Look, I’ll think about it. But at the moment nothing comes to mind.”

“Okay.”

D’Ablo nodded grimly. He turned and left the room.


	2. Chapter 2

Vlad didn’t see D’Ablo for another month, long enough to make him think that the entire conversation was a hallucination brought on by sleep deprivation and excessive amounts of coffee. He even would have come to that conclusion if it weren’t for the fact that now that he had an idea of what a ghost looked like, he was seeing them everywhere. 

There was the boy who had hung himself in a private little alcove on the campus, and sometimes Vlad saw him sitting on tree random branches, staring blankly into space, a ring of bruises around his neck.

Then were two little girls who were killed in a car crash before Vlad was born and they chased each other around on mangled legs, giggling and shrieking, bruised faces alive with joy.

There was also another man who wandered around the campus, occasionally listening in on students’ conversations, his throat torn open by what looked like a wild animal. Vlad recognized the more brutal signs of a vampire hunt. He kept his distance.

None of the ghosts tried to approach him, which Vlad was perfectly fine with. He had a feeling that helping D’Ablo move on would be a mess in of itself. Adding another ghost would just make his life more complicated than it already was.

D’Ablo finally showed up in the middle of Vlad’s calculus class. If the ghost had anything going for him, it was his absolutely  _ impeccable _ timing, floating through Vlad’s desk right when the professor called on him to answer a question, staining his notes with ectoplasmic blood. “Vladimir.”

Vlad barely suppressed a shriek, turning it into a coughing fit instead. The professor’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Tod?”

Vlad flapped a hand at him, eyes streaming. “Yeah . . . just--” he coughed-- “one second.” D’Ablo still hadn’t moved, turning the entire front of the class into blurry shapes of different shades of blue. “Move,” Vlad said, disguising that as a cough.

“We need to talk.” The ghost still didn’t move.

“Yeah, just-- one second,” Vlad muttered.

“Mr. Tod?”

“Yeah, sorry, uh . . . what was the question again?” He knew what the question was. He just needed time to write  **M O V E** in big black letters on his notebook. D’Ablo rolled his eyes and floated over Vlad’s head.

The professor had finished repeating his question and Vlad still hadn’t gathered his thoughts enough to answer, scribbling furiously on his notes to figure it out. D’Ablo came to a rest next to him. “Three-x to the fourth-plus-two hundred and three-x to the two-thirds-minus-five-x-plus-two.”

Vlad paused in his scribbles, then lightly wrote, “what?” on his notebook, still too frazzled to process all that. D’Ablo sighed. “The integral of that function.Three-x to the fourth-plus-two hundred and three-x to the two-thirds-minus-five-x-plus-two.”

Vlad rattled it off. The professor raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, Mr. Tod. Please pay attention next time.” Vlad nodded and ducked his head.

“Let’s talk, Vlad.” D’Ablo’s voice came from next to his ear but Vlad couldn’t feel his presence or the warmth of the breath that was supposed to be there. It made his skin crawl.

He suppressed a groan and wrote “ _ can’t you wait until the end of the class? _ ”

There was a pause as D’Ablo considered. “I don’t want to. Besides, I only came to tell you that I couldn’t think of anything  _ unfinished _ that someone else couldn’t have done. There’s just . . . nothing.”

Vlad frowned and wrote, “ _ You interrupted me in class to tell me there’s nothing you know of? That definitely could have waited _ .”

“ _ No _ , it couldn’t have!” D’Ablo snapped. “I even thought of things as mundane as changing the cat litter! There’s  _ nothing _ that absolutely needed to be done by me.”

“ _ So what do you want to do? _ ”

“I don’t  _ know _ .”

Vlad went to write something scathing but something in D’Ablo’s voice made him pause. He risked turning his head to the side and found D’Ablo with his arms crossed, shoulders hunched. There was a faint flush on his blue-tinted cheeks, and his mouth was twisted into a frown. When he noticed Vlad was facing him he composed himself, straightening and lifting his chin, a mask slamming over his face. Vlad sighed and turned back to his notebook. “ _ Look, we’ll figure something out. Just wait for me in my room. _ ” He paused, then added, “ _ if Henry’s in there, you’ll have to wait to have a conversation.” _

D’Ablo leaned over to read it. “Wasn’t it Harold? Your drudge?”

Vlad barely shook his head. Then he scribbled, “ _ you attacked me three times then had me sentenced to death and you still don’t know my best friend’s name?” _

“It wasn’t very important at the time.”

Vlad risked shooting him a dirty look, startling the guy the sitting next to him. There weren’t any words to convey what he thought of  _ that _ logic. D’Ablo just rolled his eyes. “I’ll be in your room. Don’t take too long.”

“I’m not the one--” Vlad started, then caught himself because as far as anyone else knew he was talking to himself. D’Ablo floated up to the ceiling and vanished.

At the end of class Vlad hurried down to his dorm, not pausing for the chats among students that usually happened after about whether or not they’d gotten the subject. D’Ablo hadn’t struck him as the overly patient type, no matter what he’d claimed when he was alive, and Vlad had the feeling that waiting another fifteen minutes in addition to the half hour for the class to end was going to make him unbearably antsy.

He slowed down by the time he reached the hall and when he turned the corner he was surprised to see D’Ablo sitting against the wall, his head between his knees. “Is everything okay?”

D’Ablo glared up at him. “Your drudge and his girlfriend.”

“What about them?”

“Next time warn me so I don’t walk in on his pasty white ass making jerking motions into her pasty white--”

“Okay, that’s enough.” That was definitely an image Vlad didn’t want to think about.

“When I was your age you were married before even holding hands with a woman!”

D’Ablo continued to rant while Vlad knocked and swiped his card to get into his room. He braced himself for the sight of Henry’s “pasty white ass making jerking motions” only to find him and October sitting across each other, taking turns shouting French vocabulary words. Right. He’d sent D’Ablo away thirty minutes ago. Still, perfume hung heavy in the air, and it didn’t take  a genius to figure out what it masked.

“Hey, guys.” Vlad dropped his bag.

“Hey, Vlad,” they chorused, and then dissolved into giggles. Next to Vlad, D’Ablo huffed, and he could practically  _ hear _ how hard the ghost was rolling his eyes.

“Henry, did you get Johnson’s homework? I go to the bathroom and the guy straight up refuses to repeat it when I come back.”

Henry pulled his laptop into his lap and started tapping away. D’Ablo floated over to read over his shoulder. His eyebrows rose. “A dissertation on the causes of World War Two?”

“An essay analyzing the causes of World War Two due the twenty-seventh,” Henry said. He closed his computer. “Tell me again why we took that class?”

“Otis insisted I take a history class so I could take the lessons to heart in my everyday life and not make any mistakes like those, I guess. And you didn’t want me to suffer alone.”

“Well, Otis was right with that logic,” D’Ablo started at the same time Henry said, “yeah, but I’m starting to regret it. Johnson’s a dick.”

_ Like you ever learned from your mistakes, _ Vlad wanted to point out to D’Ablo, but he couldn’t speak to air, so he answered Henry instead. “He’s a bitter old guy. What do you expect?” He then realized there was a bitter old guy in the room, so he grinned over Henry’s shoulder and raised an eyebrow.

Beneath his ghostly blue glow, D’Ablo turned pink. “By Elysian standards I was not  _ that _ old.”

Henry grinned. “With our experiences with bitter old guys, I think we should count ourselves lucky he’s not trying to stab you.”

Everyone but D’Ablo laughed. In fact, he looked like he wanted to punt Henry’s head through the wall. October recovered first and she started gathering her and Henry’s index cards. “I don’t know, Vlad, I’d watch out for that ruler he’s always carrying around. I’m pretty sure he sharpens it every night.”

“You think he hates me that much?”

“I’m thinking that D’Ablo guy doesn’t hold a candle to the hatred he feels for you.”

“Want to bet?” D’Ablo ground out.

Vlad didn’t want to bet. He shot D’Ablo a warning look (as if D’Ablo could do anything), then grinned at October. “Johnson hasn’t tried to kill me yet.”

She shrugged. “Give him time. I’m here if you need ass kicking.” She finished picking up their French homework and smiled at Henry. “Coming, babe?”

Henry grinned dopily. D’Ablo stifled a snort before he remembered no one could hear him and just burst out laughing. “Yeah, coming.” He looked at Vlad. “See ya.”

“Yeah.” Vlad lazily waved his hand, then added, “by the way . . . what did I say about sex in here?”

Henry grinned. “You asked me not do it . . . but come on, Snow and October’s apartment is so far from here.”

“Come on, man, it’s a twenty minute walk. And you need to change those sheets.”

“I will.” He trotted out the door after October.

“Dude!”

“ _ I will! _ ” Henry called over his shoulder, and he turned the corner. Vlad sighed and slumped on his own bed. D’Ablo regarded Henry’s warily before he decided he’d rather not come into contact with human bodily fluids and settled for crouching on a chair. Vlad sighed again. “Okay? So you don’t know of . . .  _ anything _ , that could help you move on.”

D’Ablo frowned. “No. Nothing major that I can think of. All of the reports I had left unfinished at the time were easily completed by somebody else-- and somebody else did them. Hell, I was in the middle of renovating a bathroom and my  _ mother _ finished that for me.” A pause. “Not exactly the way I had in mind but what’s a mother to do. Anyway. My home is sold, belongings either in a museum or sold as well . . . there is  _ nothing _ .”

Vlad threw up his hands. “Look, man, I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know you at all, except that you’re old and a power-hungry asshole--”

“Take it easy with the compliments there--”

“--and that you don’t like me. You’re only here because I can see you.”

“That is all true.” At Vlad’s stunned expression, D’Ablo shrugged. “I wouldn’t come to you if you couldn’t see me. In case you hadn’t noticed, before--” he made a circular motion with his finger. It took Vlad a moment but he realized D’Ablo was referring to his careening into Vlad’s room-- “even when I saw you, I was prepared to leave. I can’t even touch you. Why would I bother to waste my time on you if you’re not of any use to me?” He dropped his hand. “I’m not feigning ignorance to bother you, or punish you, or whatever. Do you think I want to drip blood all over the place for eternity? I want to  _ leave. _ There’s nothing else for me here. You can’t bring the dead back to life, my body is ashes and without even a proper funeral -- all I am is fortunate that vampire culture doesn’t dictate that we need a proper funeral to move on.” His face darkened. “Then again, what do the living know about death.”

Vlad waited for him to say something else, but D’Ablo just rested his arms on the back of the chair as well as he could and closed his eyes. Again Vlad was struck by how exhausted he looked. He shifted uncomfortably and bit his lip. “Look, I have another class to get to.” In an hour, but he didn’t much want to spend that hour sitting in awkward silence with his dead archnemesis. He was gathering his things when D’Ablo said, “I’m coming with you.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t have anything else to do but harass that vampire victim. Might as well sit in on a class.” Then he added, “I never had a formal education. I want to know what American universities are like.”

“You’ve never gone to  _ school _ ?”

D’Ablo shot him a tight-lipped smile. “It wasn’t a big priority when I was a boy. My older stepbrother got an education. My family didn’t bother with me.”

“Why?”

“None of your business.” D’Ablo floated past him. Conversation over, though Vlad made a mental note to find a way to ask Otis about it. Even if Otis didn’t know the whole story, he’d probably have some answers . . . and D’Ablo wouldn’t have to know. Vlad shouldered his bag. “Wait, then how did you become president? Don’t you need an education for that?”

D’Ablo regarded him warily for a moment, then seemed to decide that there wasn’t any harm in answering the question. “It’s not that I’ve never been educated. I just never went to school. My mother -- Sire -- took care of that. Outside of physical training she taught me science, philosophy, history . . . tried to teach me religion but I’d already had enough of that shoved down my throat-- arithmetic, different languages. I read a lot, and I observed. Experience taught me more than I ever would have learned sitting at a desk taking notes. There are a few institutions -- boarding schools -- where fledglings are taught Elysian culture, practices, and history, as well as your typical subjects, but they are fairly modern. The first one was founded a century or so ago.” He went over to the door. “As for how I became president, I was elected after the Revolution. Stokerton used to be London’s puppet council -- it wasn’t even called Stokerton then -- and to make a long story short, we revolted, our president was killed, and I was chosen to take her place. Stokerton became an independent council and the rest is history.” 

He floated through the door. Vlad was about to open it, trying to formulate a way to explain that he didn’t actually have a class to get to at the moment, when D’Ablo shot back into the room, going right through him. The sudden cold shock made him double over -- he felt his organs freeze over -- and he straightened, coughing. “What the hell?”

“I am  _ not _ going out there.” D’Ablo waved his finger at the door as if it would come to life and attack him.

“What?”

“I am  _ not _ going out there. There’s this . .   _ thing _ \--” he was floating forward but he didn’t seem to notice-- “glowing thing in the hall-- what the fuck?” He looked down at himself, then at the door, and finally realized he was getting closer to it. “Wait-- no no no, don’t you-- no, no!” He outstretched his arms as if he were pushing against something. When that proved not to work, he windmilled his arms. “Vladimir, something’s pulling me-- there’s this  _ rope _ \-- for fuck’s sake can’t you see it-- no no no-- it’s glowing how do you not see it! -- no, no, no no no nonononono--!” With a final desperate howl, D’Ablo went through the wall, leaving an enormous bloodstain behind. Vlad gaped at it for a moment, then scrambled for the door, fumbling with the doorknob with sweaty hands. Finally, he threw the it open with so much force it bounced off the wall.

His jaw dropped.

D’Ablo was screeching something intelligible, bound tight by glowing golden threads. He thrashed and writhed against them even as they visibly tightened, and kept cursing until one of them looped around his head and across his mouth, effectively gagging him. He grew even more outraged but at least the swearing was back at a bearable volume.

It wasn’t that which had Vlad frozen on the spot, though. Dorian, also glowing gold, though not nearly as brightly as the ropes, had a tight hold on the end, laughing so hard he doubled over. Vlad managed to pick his jaw up off the floor. “Dorian?” he whispered, voice raw. First D’Ablo, then Dorian. If he had to help the Keeper find a way to move on too, he might just scream.

Dorian managed to pull himself together. D’Ablo continue to shout behind the gag. “Hello, Vladimir.”

“The hell are you doing here?” Vlad hissed, glancing down the hall to make sure nobody was watching him talk to the air. If Dorian was even invisible to other people.

“Oh, it’s complicated--” D’Ablo tried yanked himself away, still screaming his lungs out, thrashing violently. Another rope looped around his neck and Dorian yanked him back-- “very complicated. It involves top-secret afterlife practices and all that--”

“There’s a vampire afterlife?”

“-- I can’t tell you that. I mean after  _ life _ , in general. Whole lot of bureaucracy and rules, which I  _ could _ sort of get into. . .” he then grinned at D’Ablo, “but someone’s in a bit of a bind, right now, aren’t you you pissy little ghost you~”

With a furious howl, D’Ablo launched himself at Dorian, except with his hands and legs tied it looked more like an angry flop. No less terrifying, though, and Vlad leaped out of the way. Dorian merely held his hand up with a lazy smile. It clamped on D’Ablo’s forehead. There was a bright flash and D’Ablo actually screamed in pain. When the light died down, there was no sign of him.

“What did you do!?” Vlad cried, staring horrified at the spot where D’Ablo once was. All that was left were the glowing golden ropes, hanging limply from Dorian’s hand.

Dorian flicked his wrist and the ropes disappeared. “Just put him in timeout. I was prepared to have a conversation with him but he was being unreasonable, so . . . “ he turned to face Vlad. “You and I need to talk.”


	3. Chapter 3

It had been five minutes and Vlad still couldn’t get over the fact that Dorian was standing in front of him, glowing gold, mumbling soft curses as he tapped along furiously on an iPad-looking tablet. “They say it’s state-of-the-art technology. And yet it’s impossible to save files under an easily memorizable name. Noooo, it needs to be these long numbers and strings of capital and lowercase letters because even after death life can’t be easy, can it? Ah, there we go.”

He sat down on Henry’s bed -- Vlad cringed inwardly, remembering what had been going on on that bed not even an hour prior, but at the moment he could barely speak without stuttering, so he said nothing -- and tapped a few more times, then grinned. “D’Ablo della Vega. Age at time of death: five hundred and fifteen. Cause of death: Disembowelment -- not pulling any punches, hm? Afterlife status: Earthbound. Reason . . . well, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Ghosts are the worst. At least I don’t have to walk him through the five stages of grief. ‘ _ Yes, you’re dead. Don’t take it out on me. No, I can’t bring you back to life in exchange for something. Oh, stop with the long face. Are you over it yet? Yes? Good. _ ’ The anger stage is why I have the lasso. Some of the more aggressive ones try to attack me.”

Vlad could only nod. Dorian continued to tap on the screen. “They really did not pick a very flattering picture. Like a mugshot. Where’d they even  _ get _ this picture? Oh, wait, it is a mugshot. Wait, no . . . nope, eyeliner. Not a mugshot. Probably after his third all-nighter--”

“Dorian.”

“--maybe fourth. You could never tell with D’Ablo, I swear those under-eye bags are  _ permanent _ \--”

“Dorian.”

“--there’s no swearing about it, they are. You know a common sight in Stokerton was D’Ablo napping on random park benches? He just walked up to one and passed--”

“Dorian!”

Finally he stopped talking and raised his head from the tablet. “Yes.”

“What the hell is going on? Because, look, I really don’t care if D’Ablo passed out on random park benches while he was alive, he’s here  _ now _ and  _ you’re _ also here and you’re both  _ dead _ , so, what’s going on?”

Dorian pursed his lips. “I think he’s had long enough in time out. Don’t you?” He held out his hand. There was a brilliant flash and D’Ablo appeared right above it, swaying on his feet, arms extended for balance, looking completely disoriented. He turned around slowly and caught sight of Dorian. “Jesus.”

“Nothing to do with this,” Dorian assured him. D’Ablo shot through the ceiling in response. Dorian groaned and flicked his wrist. The golden threads from before reappeared and went after the ghost, reigning him back in, kicking and cursing worse than a sailor. One looped around D’Ablo’s mouth again and he tore at it with his fingers. 

“Don’t bother,” Dorian said. “And, look, I know you’re into bondage, but stop running off. This is relevant to you, too.”

Slowly, D’Ablo lowered his hands. Dorian smiled grimly and the ropes disappeared. D’Ablo seemed to consider his options, then opted for sitting/floating next to Vlad. There was a moment of silence before he said, “you know you’re sitting in a nice little mixture of sweat and vaginal fluids?”

Dorian blinked, looked down at the sheets, then leaped off the bed. “God!”

“Don’t be an asswipe. It’s not like you can touch it.” It was true. Vlad noticed that Dorian was more or less as translucent as D’Ablo. D’Ablo crossed his arms. “What are you doing here?”

Dorian shot him a dirty look, then settled for sitting cross-legged three feet off the floor. “Vladimir and I were going over your file--”

“What file?”

Dorian rolled his eyes and handed him the tablet. “I’m an ambassador from after life. My job is to direct and assist the hopeless cases that can’t move on by themselves -- like you -- so that they can head into the . . . wherever it is dead people go.” He wasn’t looking at Vlad, but Vlad had a feeling that Dorian would be speaking more freely if it were only him and D’Ablo.

D’Ablo only nodded, signifying that he’d heard, and continued reading.

“More specifically,” Dorian continued, “I’m in charge of assigning a task to those who don’t have any unfinished business but still can’t move on.” D’Ablo looked up then. Dorian’s lip curled. “It’s all in your file, but to make it short, we know that you don’t have anything to complete. The reason you’re here is because some higher-up believes that you don’t deserve to move on.” He paused. “Several higher ups. You need to finish a task we assign to you before you’re permitted to leave.”

D’Ablo frowned. He pushed a button on the side of the tablet and the screen went black. He handed it back to Dorian without a word, then said, “it’s fucking Rodolphus, isn’t it? He couldn’t fuck me over in life so he does it in death. Is it Rodolphus? I’m not doing anything assigned by him.”

“That’s what you care about?” Dorian asked, one eyebrow raised. “Nothing about what you have to do to move on?”

“I want to know what petty bitch I’m dealing with.”

“It’s not Rodolphus or anyone you know, got it? They haven’t been dead nearly long enough to hold any relevance.”

“So why do you have a job . . . “

“All the dead have-- I can’t tell you this with Vlad in the room.”

They both turned towards Vlad, D’Ablo’s icy blue gaze and Dorian’s golden one fixing on him and making him squirm. Dorian looked apologetic and reached out, turning D’Ablo’s head back towards him. D’Ablo slapped his hand away, then blinked at his palm, surprised at the touch. “We have longer than eternity to go over all this and he won’t be hanging around all the time,” Dorian said. “Besides, if he can help you . . . “

“I can leave if you guys want,” Vlad started, but Dorian shook his head. “You may as well stay while I let him know what he has to do.”

D’Ablo didn’t seem particularly happy about that, but outside of a slight creasing between his eyebrows he gave no sign of displeasure. He merely crossed his legs, resting his elbow on his thigh and chin in his hand.

Dorian turned on the tablet again and tapped away for a full minute. “There’s this group of rogue vampires running around. They haven’t killed any vampires yet, other than that they’re similar to the ones in New York a few years ago.”

“There were rogue vampires in New York?” Vlad interrupted.

“Ask your Slayer friend about them,” D’Ablo snapped. “He’s the one who killed them.” His face darkened. “And took all the fun away from Stokerton. Enrico was  _ thisclose _ to chasing them into my territory--”

“Reminisce later,” Dorian said. “There’s three of them. They’ve been the cause of some mass slaughters and have compromised Elysia on more than one occasion--”

“Hold on,” Vlad held his hands up. “ _ Mass slaughter? _ ”

“Any human death toll over seven by a single vampire within the span of twenty four hours is considered mass slaughter,” D’Ablo said curtly. To Dorian, “go on.”

“No no wait. These guys have been committing  _ mass murder _ and no one’s stopped them yet?”

“Happens all the time,” D’Ablo said. “The question is why Stokerton hasn’t apprehended them yet.”

Dorian sighed. “Stokerton is a disaster, D’Ablo. How long did it take you to get used to the idea of Cratus in your seat?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my mind around that,” D’Ablo admitted.

“So is your council. Crime rates have spiked since your death. They’re divided within the council and they can’t compromise on anything. Cristina and Neissan especially are being difficult, as well as many of the other Revolution veterans--” D’Ablo smiled-- “of course you’d be proud of that. Anyway, Stokerton territories have basically become a haven for criminals these past two years.”

“And Otis? What’s Otis doing?”

“You know your colleagues, D’Ablo. Would any of them  _ ever _ give Otis the time of day, much less assist him in organizing the council?”

D’Ablo shrugged, but he was still smiling.

“Long story short,” Dorian continued, “Stokerton is useless. They fight over the color of the curtains in the council room. There’s no way they can calmly discuss something as major as dealing with a group of rogues. So that’s your job.”

“And I’m supposed to do that  _ alone _ ? I can’t even touch shit!” He stuck his hand through Vlad’s head to emphasize this fact. Vlad yelped and scrambled away, and then the freezing cold enveloped his brain and he doubled over with a cry, clutching his head. Vaguely he heard D’Ablo say, “I suppose I can do that,” but his voice was drowned out by Vlad’s loud groaning as he curled up on the floor. Finally, the cold began to fade and he stumbled to his feet, using the bed to pull himself up, eyes streaming.

“Alright, Vladimir?” Dorian’s voice was kind, concerned. “Ghost’s touches aren’t pleasant.” He glared sideways at D’Ablo.

“How was I supposed to know that?!” D’Ablo protested. Dorian merely rolled his eyes. Vlad sat up, rubbing at his head. “Dude, just don’t-- do that again.” Worst. Brainfreeze. Ever.

“Don’t call me that and we have a deal.” 

Vlad shot him a dirty look but D’Ablo pointedly ignored it. “Back to the important bits.  _ How _ am I supposed to catch them if I can’t touch anything and Vladimir’s the only one who can see me?”

“That’s up to you to figure out.” D’Ablo opened his mouth and Dorian hurried on. “I can help. In fact, I need to. No one expects you to be able to do anything in the state you’re in now.”

The look on D’Ablo’s face suggested that after hearing that he would do everything in his power to do what he needed to and more in his current state, just to prove them wrong. Dorian kept talking, ignoring the expression. “I’m sure you noticed that some ghosts can move things either through touch or telekinesis.”

“Telekinesis?”

“I don’t know the physics behind it, so don’t ask. But, yes, telekinesis. They tend to be ghosts with hot temperaments-- quick to anger, very passionate . . . I think that’s we’ll practice with you.”

“You want me to move things with my  _ mind _ .”

“You aren’t constrained by your living limits anymore.”

“ _ So _ ?”

“So what, D’Ablo? You’re not a vampire. You can _really_ move things with your mind. It’s all a matter of believing--”  
“Here we go,” D’Ablo groaned. To Vlad, “he’s going to say some Peter Pan bullshit like ‘believe in yourself and you can fly’.”

Dorian huffed. “You can whine all you want, but that’s how it works.”

They lapsed into silence. D’Ablo apparently had nothing else to say about the about the matter of telekinesis in ghosts, probably figuring that since Dorian had gone to the afterlife, he’d know a lot more than D’Ablo did. Vlad was pretty sure D’Ablo was the kind of guy who hated to be proved wrong, and if it came between saying something and being wrong, or keeping his mouth shut, he’d stay quiet.

Then D’Ablo spoke. Not to Vlad, but to Dorian. “You’re different.”

“How so?”

“You don’t talk like one of those false fortune tellers anymore. I like it. Makes me want to strangle you less.”

Dorian regarded him with narrowed eyes. “That’s how far your compliments extend, isn’t it?”

D’Ablo shrugged. “If you’re going to take it as a compliment.”

“‘Makes me want to strangle you less’ following ‘I like it’ means it’s a compliment.”

“Whatever you say.”

Once again they fell silent. After two minutes, Vlad felt obligated to say something, because the two dead men seemed to be alright with just staring at each other for eternity. “So . . . how . . . how does this all work? This dying thing?”

“I’m not supposed to share anything--” Dorian started.

“I’m not asking about afterlife. But, I mean. What was dying like?”

“That’s a dark question,” D’Ablo said. “Especially considering how I died.”

“And me,” Dorian added. D’Ablo frowned at him. “How did you die?”

“Stake.”

“Oh, right. You said something about it being your destiny once.”

“To  _ you _ ?”

“After vomiting on my shoes. You were drunk. Then I kicked you in the gut.”

“I don’t remember.”

“Alcohol tends to do that.”

“Of course, you know so much about that.”

“I am _ not _ an alcoholic, will you stop--”

“GUYS!” Vlad shouted. “Can you stop fighting for one moment!” D’Ablo finished his statement by shooting Dorian the ugliest look he could muster. He seemed more than willing to continue their argument, so Vlad quickly hurried on. “So what was it like? Unless you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh no,” D’Ablo said. “I’m fine with talking about it. It was excruciating.” Vlad was already regretting his question. “So, first, it was just as if Tomas was merely poking his nails into my chest. Kind of . . .” he made a claw with his hand and dug his fingers into his arm, but Vlad had gotten the picture. “And then he started  _ digging _ . If you’d seen my body -- before it was burned -- it was like a wild animal was trying to get to my heart, not a man. He just clawed into me, tore the tissue between my ribs to grasp them and crush them before he reached my heart. It was very invasive.” He said that very matter-of-factly, as if someone touching organs that weren’t meant to be touched or exposed wasn’t going to be invasive.

“Then he grasped it,” D’Ablo continued. “My heart. It was like a panic attack, but this one wasn’t going to end. I was still alive. I felt him. I felt him squeeze it and I felt my heartstrings, my windpipe -- did you know it’s attached to the heart -- they stretched and broke. There was blood everywhere.” His eyes were glazed, staring at a spot directly above Dorian’s head. Dorian shifted uncomfortably, and Vlad saw him swallow, sickened by the details of the story, the nonchalance with which D’Ablo was speaking. Vlad, too, felt like throwing up. “I choked on it. On my own blood. I didn’t see him squeeze my heart because I was just trying to  _ breathe _ \-- and then I died. It’s blackness. That darkness with no light. And there won’t ever be light. It’s like a switch. You’re on, and then you’re off. Forever. It’s suffocating.”

D’Ablo’s eyes cleared again. “And then, since I was bound to it until I figured out how to fuck off, I had to watch Vikas behead me and burn my body, which was fun. I found an angle that doesn’t look good on me, and that’s  _ decapitated. _ ” He turned his head to face Vlad, unblinking. “That’s what dying’s like. Pray you don’t ever have to experience it.” He turned to Dorian. “It was different from being Turned, wasn’t it? It was all the same sensations, but it was different . . . I think being turned wasn’t like flickering a light switch, right? It was like being overtaken by a wave.”

Dorian frowned at him. “Dying wasn’t a light switch for me.”

D’Ablo huffed. “Because you’re a special snowflake. What was it like.”

“Just like being Turned. A wave of blackness. The kind that chokes you.”

They both sighed at the same time, a sound that was almost wistful.That was even creepier, somehow, than their stories, so Vlad decided that from then on he would only ask deep questions if he wanted the gory details-- which was never.

“So what are you guys going to do now?”

They exchanged looks, then Dorian frowned at Vlad. D’Ablo shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d say start immediately. The less time we waste to start these  _ telekinesis lessons _ \-- and I’ll believe it when I see it, Dorian -- the less time I’m stuck trying and failing to pull strings out of your comforter.” He was indeed picking at Vlad’s blanket, except of course his fingers went right through the fabric. He frowned and folded his hand in his lap.

“Before we start all that,” Dorian said, “there are a few things I need to go over with you, and, Vladimir, I’m afraid that they’re strictly things to be discussed amongst the dead.”

Vlad blinked. Then he realized he was being kicked out. “Okay.” He stood, shouldering his bag. “I’ll be seeing you guys, then?”

D’Ablo shrugged. “Where else would I go?” Dorian only nodded.

Vlad shut the door behind himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Vlad didn’t see Dorian at all in the next two weeks, and he hardly saw much of D’Ablo. Occasionally he’d pass the place on campus where a kid had hung himself all those years ago, and he’d see D’Ablo in deep discussion with him, clearly either asking questions or listening intently while the other explained something. Once Vlad had passed by at the end of the conversation; the kid had drifted off and D’Ablo had sat there, cross-legged, contemplating the brick in front of him. When class ended an hour and a half later Vlad had walked the same way, but D’Ablo wasn’t there anymore. The only sign he’d just left was the bloodstain glowing blue that disappeared thirty seconds later.

It was hard to focus on classes with the knowledge that his archnemesis was still around, but somehow Vlad managed to keep his grades up. It was more than could be said for Henry, who was so invested in basketball and October that he’d come staggering to bed at 1 AM after hours and hours of practice, the scent of her perfume still lingering on his skin. The one time Vlad had found D’Ablo in his room was when D’Ablo was reading an essay of Henry’s that he’d left on his desk after printing it out. D’Ablo had looked so appalled that Vlad had had to duck out of the room to laugh. When he came back in, D’Ablo was gone. After that, Vlad made Henry promise to get some help, or at least to do things other than make out with October when they were in the same room together.

So it was only chance that he walked into his room on a rainy Thursday afternoon and both Dorian and D’Ablo were there, their blue and gold auras mingling in a yellowish shade of green. They were also arguing, circling around a desk Dorian had moved to the center of the room -- Vlad’s desk, he noted with dismay -- which had been entirely cleared out except for a single pen. He figured it wasn’t the right time to groan, and just set his bag on his bed, taking off his shoes and listening to their exchange.

“It’s impossible bullshit!” D’Ablo spat. He tried to slap the table but of course went right through it.

“With that mindset of course it is!” Dorian cried. “We’ve gone over this: you have to  _ believe it _ \--”

“This isn’t a God-damn Disney movie!” D’Ablo shouted. “This isn’t Peter Pan where you sprinkle pixie dust on me--”

“First, how do you know Peter Pan? Second, you’ve only been skeptical and reluctant ever since I brought up the  _ concept _ of telekinesis! How the hell do you expect results if you’re not even trying!?”

“We-- the council has movie nights, and Anna likes Disney. Peter Pan is her favorite. But that’s not the point!” D’Ablo floated over, jabbing his finger into Dorian’s chest. “It’s bullshit! Telekinesis isn’t possible! You can’t . . .  _ mentally connect _ with an inanimate object! You can’t place yourself in the mindset of an object! An object is not an animal, and  _ this _ isn’t animorphing!”

“I never told you to try to relate yourself to a pen! I told you to extend your will over it!”

D’Ablo threw his hands up in the air and resumed pacing. “I’ve  _ been _ doing that! I may not have been as good as you with mind control, but I still know how to extend my will over something! It’s not going to work, Dorian!”

“You’re not even trying!” Dorian snapped.

“I’m doing my best!” D’Ablo cried. “This isn’t working, it’s never going to work--”

“Of course it’s not with that mindset!”

“IT’S NOT GOING TO WORK!” D’Ablo roared, making Vlad jump and Dorian falter. The pen shot from the desk, past Vlad’s ear -- he felt his hair lift, that’s how close it was -- and embedded itself in the wall behind him. Vlad turned around slowly, incredulously, and saw it, still quivering in the hole it had made. He turned back around, mouth open but unsure of what to say. D’Ablo only looked stunned, hands clenched into fists from his outburst. Dorian’s mouth was hanging open. He was the one who recovered first and cleared his throat. “Emotions. Strong emotions, that’s what it’s tied to. I should have known.”

“No shit,” D’Ablo muttered, still staring at the wall.

“I can’t believe it,” Dorian said.

D’Ablo didn’t say anything. He narrowed his eyes and frowned at the pen, and it was only when he heaved an enormous sigh that Vlad realized he was trying to take it out of the wall.

“Don’t give up now,” Dorian said. “Get angry again.”

D’Ablo scowled at him. “My emotions don’t turn on and off like a light switch.”

“You’re still angry,” Dorian insisted. “You can do it again.”

“Couldn’t you see that it’s an unpredictable response? I didn’t do that consciously. I wasn’t  _ thinking _ \--”

“That’s it!” Dorian shouted. D’Ablo huffed, but he was ignored. “That’s what’s wrong. You were  _ thinking _ about it too hard. We were taking the wrong approach, acting like it was animorphing or telepathy.” Dorian grinned excitedly. Vlad looked dumbfounded. D’Ablo only looked irritated at being interrupted. “I don’t think about touching things, I just do! It’s something I take for granted-- that’s the attitude you need to have, D’Ablo! You need to act like your telekinesis is something that’s just another part of you, like your legs.”

“But it’s not.”

“And that’s what we have to change. We need to go from that to you being surprised when things  _ don’t _ move when you want them to.”

Vlad thought D’Ablo looked intrigued -- there was a new glint in his eyes that wasn’t here before -- but the ghost still didn’t seem convinced. “If I thought it was natural that wouldn’t be a problem. But  _ that _ \--” he pointed to the pen in the wall-- “is not natural.”

“We can make it natural,” Dorian insisted.

D’Ablo still seemed unsure. He puffed out his cheeks and raised his eyes to the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest. He then lowered his chin to his chest with a sigh. “I’ll give it a try,” he said to the floor, then looked up at Dorian. “I will. But if it doesn’t work, you give up on telepathy and move on to me picking things up. Clear?”

Dorian’s smile was as brilliant as the sun and he rushed forward with his arms open. D’Ablo ducked to the side and held out his hands. “We are  _ not _ on hugging terms.”

“Alright, fine. No hugs yet.”

“ _ Never. _ ”

“That’s what you think.” Dorian went over to pull the pen out of the wall while D’Ablo sputtered something about them not getting along in life and certainly not getting along in death forget-about-it-I-am-not-hugging-you. He went mostly ignored-- though Dorian did smirk as he set the pen on Vlad’s bed and began pushing the desk back to where it should have been. Vlad went to help him. D’Ablo floated a little behind them, watching. After they finished pushing it into place, Vlad turned around and there wasn’t a sign D’Ablo was ever there-- except, of course, those blowing bloodstains he tracked all over the place. At least they vanished. “What’s with him?”

Dorian straightened his end. “Oh, he just doesn’t like being useless.”

Vlad blinked. “But he can’t help it.”

“I know. He’s not used to not being able to help things. Remember, all he had to do was breathe near someone and they’d be falling over themselves to make sure his desires were met.” Dorian tilted his head. “Oh wait. That was me.” He waved his hand as if to say  _ it doesn’t matter _ and continued. “Either way, he was also more or less in the same position, but he could also tell them to cut it out and he could pour himself a glass of water. He had choices back then. Now he doesn’t. He’s not used to that.”

Vlad nodded, grabbing his bag from his bed and setting it down next to his chair. He started putting everything back on his desk but stopped, biting his lip. “Hey, Dorian? Can I ask you something?”

“I won’t guarantee an answer, but you may ask whatever you wish.”

Of course. “It’s not about the afterlife, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s something that D’Ablo said. I was about to go to class when he said he was coming with me, that he’d never gone to school. He said he wanted to know what college was like.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going.

“So, I asked him why and he said his parents had never really bothered with him. That his older brother got an education but he didn’t. What does that mean? Like, I know back then that girls didn’t go to school, but if his brother did it means that his family must have been rich. So they could have afforded to send him.”

Dorian sighed and perched on Vlad’s desk, eyes raised to the ceiling as if he were formulating a response. “D’Ablo had . . . let’s put it this way: he had a  _ difficult _ childhood. The brother wasn’t a brother but a stepbrother, and he emphasizes that distinction. They had different fathers. If it was because of a divorce and remarriage, then  _ maybe _ it would not have been so bad.” Dorian grimaced. “But no one knew who D’Ablo’s father was. His mother had an affair -- probably with some handsome merchant, believe me, I’ve seen portraits of her and she was very plain, D’Ablo must have gotten his looks from the man -- and he paid for it. She refused to suffer the consequences of her actions -- he may not have inherited her looks, but his spirit is definitely hers -- so her husband went to the next best thing.” Dorian lifted his shoulders. “Took his anger out on the toddler. Beat him, abused him, deprived him of opportunities . . .” he fixed his gaze on Vlad. “All because of circumstances he couldn’t help.” Huffing, Dorian stood. “Which makes what he did to you all the more hypocritical, but D’Ablo never learns from his experiences unless he thinks the lesson can be used to his advantage.

“But that’s all it was. As for never having been to  _ college _ , he was lying. He has a PhD from Harvard, and a few others from other colleges. He probably just wanted an excuse to sit in your class and criticize.” He produced his ever-present tablet and started tapping away. “Then again, he always takes the opportunity to learn new things. Or perhaps I should say he likes being taught new things. Maybe he was actually interested.” Dorian shrugged. “People are complex creatures, Vladimir. He may have wanted to attend your class for many different reasons. Maybe he just wanted to see what sort of education schools that cost less than seventy thousand a year provide.” He shrugged, tapping the tablet a few more times.

“I assume you’re concerned that if D’Ablo lied to you about not going to college, he’s going to lie to you about more important things?”

Now that Dorian mentioned it, Vlad realized that was true. He nodded slowly. Dorian turned the tablet off. “You needn’t worry about it. D’Ablo knows that it’s in his best interest to be honest with you, and if something benefits him he’s going to do it. It’s true he never went to school.”

“Actually, he said that,” Vlad remembered. “He didn’t say he never went to college. He just said he wanted to know what they were like. American colleges.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “As you now know, he’s been to a few. He was just playing the pity card.”

“Oh.”

Dorian grinned. “Don’t feel bad for falling for it. Anyone who doesn’t know him well does.” He slid off Vlad’s desk. “I must be off. I imagine you’ll be seeing us around a little bit more now.”

With that, he vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? An update?


	5. Chapter 5

Finals week came and went and Vlad didn’t see neither hide nor hair of the two ghosts. He moved back in to his parents’ -- now Otis’ -- house even though Otis wasn’t around much, too busy with council business to do much outside of calling and checking in with Vlad. Snow was over a lot and so were Henry and October. Joss and Meredith stayed in Stokerton with internships, though they also came down to Bathory a lot to visit. It was all pretty comfortable, a nice change from the hell that was finals week, but Vlad still worried. In the back of his mind he knew that the group of rogues were still at large, though there weren’t any more murders than usual reported in Stokerton’s news and absolutely none in Bathory.

Despite his worries it was still an enjoyable summer vacation. He was definitely taking advantage of being able to cater to his vampire clock and resolved to take more night classes. Henry would probably kill him for coming in at the crack of dawn, but Vlad was definitely feeling way better now that he could sleep when his body needed him to. He rolled over to look at the clock -- 3 PM, a noise had woken him up -- and was just about to drift off to sleep before Dorian’s soft voice came from behind him and he nearly leaped through the ceiling.

“See, I told you we’d find him here.”

Vlad sat up, heart pounding in his chest, to find the two dead vampires floating in front of him, D’Ablo at the foot of the bed regarding the mess that was his room with a wrinkled nose, and Dorian smiling smugly.

“Almost wish we hadn’t,” D’Ablo grumbled. “Glad I can’t smell anything anymore. Hasn’t  _ anyone _ told you to clean up before you have guests over?”

“Now, D’Ablo,” Dorian said, nudging him over and sitting at the foot of the bed, “he didn’t know we were coming.”

“My point exactly. How can he live in a pig sty?”

“I’m right here, you know,” Vlad interrupted, reaching over to grab a random shirt that was draped over his nightstand. D’Ablo made a disgusted noise and shook his head, though Vlad wasn’t sure why. “So what are you guys doing here?”

“Well . . . “ Dorian began tapping on his ever-present tablet-- “we finally have some updates on the situation with the rogues.” He lifted his head. “They’re moving. Any guesses as to where?”

It took Vlad a moment, but it clicked. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“That’s what I said,” D’Ablo chimed in. “What’s so satisfying about causing chaos in such a small town? Opportunities will dry up immediately.”

“Shut up,” Vlad said. When D’Ablo was alive he’d never have said it, but D’Ablo couldn’t touch him anymore-- D’Ablo slapped the back of Vlad’s head. Dorian sighed. “During our absence, D’Ablo  _ also _ learned to manipulate physical objects through direct touch instead of telekinesis, at the cost of the energy required to keep himself manifested.” He gestured behind Vlad. Vlad turned around to see that D’Ablo was flickering, a pained look on his face. Finally, it stabilized, though he looked exhausted. “Back to the rogues,” he prompted, but not before shooting Vlad a smug grin.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “The rogues are coming to Bathory. We know because we found where they were hiding out in Stokerton. The council has pulled itself together enough to start closing in on them, and of course that made them nervous. Cratus is not as violent as our friend here--” he nodded to D’Ablo-- “but even his patience has its limits.”

“The council is backing them into a corner little by little,” D’Ablo picked up. “It would have been ideal for them to move to another big city, but Stokerton’s activity is making them paranoid. This is good for me because according to the asswipes that are Dorian’s superiors,  _ I’m _ the one who needs to stop them.”

“You will not earn any points by insulting them,” Dorian pointed out. D’Ablo scoffed and waved him off.

“The problem is,” he continued, “we no longer know where they went. It was by pure chance that I found one committing some crime and followed him. I went back a couple of nights later and they were gone.”

“So how do you know they’re coming to Bathory?” Vlad asked.

“The trail of their murders is heading this way. The council is bickering over whether they should send all of their people here or if they should spread them out between here and the next two towns. We have until they reach that decision to find the rogues and eliminate them.” He pointed to Vlad. “Which is where you come in. Apart from Otis, you are the only vampire here. Stay alert. If you sense another vampire, try to find out where he’s going. I know you have an unusual ability of seeing where a person is when you reach out with your blood -- don’t look at me like that, I always do my research -- so use that to your advantage. If you can’t do that--” D’Ablo shrugged-- “do it the old-fashioned way and follow him. Can you animorph?”

“ . . . no,” Vlad said slowly. “Why the hell should I follow him anyway? That’ll probably just get me kidnapped, or hurt, or . . .” he narrowed his eyes. “How do I know this isn’t just some other twisted plan of yours to get me killed, huh? It’s really convenient that you’re using me of all people to find these guys.”

Dorian furrowed his brow, eyes flickering to D’Ablo as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. D’Ablo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “One: the Pravus can not be killed. I am fully aware that my ritual failed after this one here--” he jabbed his thumb at Dorian-- “informed me that it wouldn’t have worked until you were of age. Second: the ritual is destroyed. Otis made sure of it after your father’s death. Even if it weren’t, it involves consuming your blood, which I can not do. Third: how would I benefit from your death? I wouldn’t have the Pravus powers, so what would be the point? You can theorize about whatever nefarious plans you think I may have for as long as you want, but you would not get anywhere. I want to move on, and you are the first living person I found who can see the dead. Lastly, young man . . . “ he leaned in close, until Vlad could see faint freckles sprinkled over his nose and cheeks, “ _ you offered _ to help me, and I am holding you to it.” He backed off. “I could go on and on, but it would be waste of time. Dorian is of no help whatsoever other than to keep tabs on me and help me hone my skills.” He rounded on Vlad, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Satisfied? After this I want nothing to do with you.”

Vlad’s eyes narrowed. D’Ablo held his gaze unblinkingly. After some time Vlad’s eyes started watering and he broke the stare. D’Ablo probably only blinked out of habit anyway. “Okay. Fine. I’ll keep helping you. I’ll see if I can find one of them and find out where they’re staying. No promises though. You guys need to look too.” He frowned at D’Ablo and D’Ablo raised an eyebrow back. Then they both turned to Dorian, who held his hands up. “Like D’Ablo said, I am only here to monitor his progress and help him practice. I must remain uninvolved.”

D’Ablo huffed. “And this is why nobody liked you when you were alive either. Good to know I can count on you, Vladimir.” He left through the wall, leaving behind an enormous bloodstain as usual. Dorian rolled his eyes at his back. “Pardon him, Vladimir. He’s nervous the council will apprehend the rogues before he can and he’ll have to start over. I must admit i am a little anxious as well. If the council catches them first that’ll mean more time I must spend here making sure he gets something done.”

“Why?” Vlad asked. “Why do you need to stay? I bet those little girls on campus don’t have someone telling them how to move on. Why does D’Ablo get it but they don’t?”

Dorian sighed. “I can only tell you that D’Ablo desperately wants to move on, while those girls have likely never thought of it. As for the rest of it, you will find out after you die.” He offered a tight-lipped smile. “Good day, Vladimir. And thank you for what you’re doing for him.”

He vanished before Vlad could say a word.

 

* * *

Vlad still went to the belfry. It had been his space since middle school and he found that he still felt comfortable there, with only the rustling of the leaves and the dim light of the candles for company. He touched down gently on the grass behind the school, pulling his jacket closed over his chest against the chilly night air. A plus of Otis never being home was that Vlad could still maintain his own schedule and do things the way he saw fit, and if that meant hanging around the belfry until 3 AM so be it.

Voices were audible from the front of the school. Vlad was prepared to shake them off, thinking it was the new generation of Bathory High’s goth kids. He went the long way around to avoid them, not quite in the mood to stop and chat, but he paused before walking away when he heard a sharp curse in a language no human would know. He peeked around the corner of the school and saw that it wasn’t the goth kids but a grown man and woman, and they were speaking in rapid Elysian code. They had to be the rogues that Stokerton was hunting.

Vlad bit his lip. If he didn’t follow them, who knew when he would get the chance to find out where they were staying? But it was late. He stood there for another minute, debating the matter internally, and then they started moving. Vlad sighed and, with a quick look around, floated just an inch above the ground and started to follow them. When they turned onto a narrow road Vlad groaned internally. If they turned around and spotted him there would be no way for him to convince them they were just going in the same direction-- the road led to a bunch of warehouses on Bathory’s outskirts that was separated from the town by the woods and he was a bit too old to be one of the random middle schoolers who thought it was cool to hang around there.

Fortunately, they didn’t. They finally reached the warehouse and Vlad was relieved to see they went into the closest one. He quickly turned around and almost ran back to town, feeling like he would hear someone chasing him at any moment. He burst into his house and didn’t relax until the door was locked behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while hasn't it? My bad.


End file.
